


Books Bought and Sold

by hollycrowned



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4783217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycrowned/pseuds/hollycrowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Sam owns a nondescript little bookshop. His life is normal and routined, until late one night, a man shows up, injured, on his doorstep. Sam takes him in while he heals, but there's something about the man—Lucifer—that Sam can't help but think is strange. And he can't shake the feeling that there's something still out there, waiting for him and for Lucifer. For what little he knows of Lucifer, and even less of Lucifer's situation, he is only sure that his bookshop life won't go back to how it was before.</p>
<p>This work is co-written with kngfishergrl! Please be sure to check out her tumblr. She is an excellent writer, and this project has been a joy. Each chapter will include info on which of us wrote what parts, so be sure to check the notes!</p>
<p>Her original prompt: "Oh cracks that pic of the night bookshop you reblogged made me think of a Samifer human AU where Sam owns his own bookstore and lives his own quiet life, until it's violently disrupted by the arrival of an injured, emaciated stranger, who collapses on his doorstep and stays conscious only long enough for him to beg Sam for help."</p>
<p>The photo in question is sourced here: http://ihatetraveling.com/image/95673878426</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was written by me; it's been edited a bit from the original to make fit better with the rest of the work.

Sam’s entire world is made up of his cave of books.

He owns a little bookshop in the historic district—Winchester Books, Used and New, Bought and Sold. In the day, it's a quiet little place both locals and tourists come to browse the shelves and find a moment of quiet, shelter from the bright outside. At night, his is the only lit building in an ocean of the black-dark maze of old brick stores.

Sam's life is quiet and simple. During the day, he sells books. At three in the morning, he can’t sleep, so he descends from his upstairs apartment to the bookstore below to choose another story to get him through the night.

This is Sam’s world.

One late night-morning dark, he shuffles down the stairs for a book. The store is completely silent save for the buzz of the electrical lights and the rustle of old yellow pages as Sam tries to find something he hasn’t read yet, serene in his beacon-library. There is no world but for the square feet of space his shop makes up. Nothing but his own little library and the small universes the books provide, and Sam is free to choose from among them as he pleases.

He reaches for a top-shelf paperback when a slamming noise sounds, making him jump. A high pitched beeping noise follows; the force of—whatever it was—was enough to set off the alarm.

Sam looks up in time to see the back of a man slide down the glass of the front door, streaking it red.

A smaller thump as the book hits the floor, and Sam runs to the door.

He freezes with his hand on the handle, fingers about to twist the bolt, as he realizes: he has no idea who this man is or why he’s here or why he’s hurt. He looks through the glass—there’s no one else around in the dark, the man hasn’t moved. The beeping of the alarm rattles him, so he shuts it down before opening the door.

The man slumped across his stoop is all twisted up, unmoving, and it’s looking down at him, not out into the dark for the assailant, that sends the first recognizable thrill of fear up Sam's spine.

Sam takes one more glance around. There’s no one. He kneels and touches the man without really knowing what he'll do—but the touch makes the man jolt to life suddenly, flinching hard. He pushes Sam away until he sees Sam’s face, then he stops.

“Help me,” he says, and in the harsh light Sam sees blood bubble up in his mouth. “Help me,” he says, and then, “please,” and Sam feels himself nodding, agreeing without knowing what he’s agreeing to.

The man seizes and his eyes roll back and he  _stops_  suddenly, like a machine that's been switched off, and he slumps again.

Sam stays very still for a moment, waiting for something to happen. But there's only the barely audible drone of the electrical lights in the shop behind him.

Sam loops his hands underneath the man’s arms and starts to drag him, up the steps, inside.

He bolts the door and resets the alarm and he suddenly feels extremely vulnerable, light burning bright amidst all that dark with a bleeding man on the floor; whoever out there that did this can see him in his bookstore, but he can’t see them, not at all. The only protection he has is a layer of fragile glass.

Sam seizes the man under his arms again—feels a rib protruding—and starts to drag him across the floor, the man’s boot heels scraping on the hardwood. Sam prays there won’t be a lot of blood.

The man’s feet thud on each step as Sam drags him upstairs. _Out of the sight of the darkness_ , Sam can’t help thinking.

_It’s a good thing I'm used to staying up all night_ , he thinks later, after he’s cleaned the man up and moved him to the bed. He sits up at his kitchen table, wide awake, but his hands shake too much. He’s listening to silence too hard to be able to pick up a book, so he keeps a kitchen knife near him instead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first bit (before the horizontal line) was written by kngfishergrl. The bit after the horizontal line was written by me.

Sam keeps the shop closed for the next three days, cleans the blood off. Part of him debates calling the cops but he knows how well that usually goes (and he can't get the stranger's look of terror off his mind). So he does the best he can, bandages and stitches and everything Dean ever taught him, half-buried under Borges and Carter and the savage need to get away. Luckily the stranger isn’t too badly injured, but he spends the next week knocked out in Sam’s bed. And after a while it’s almost familiar. Sam watching over him, telling himself it’s to make sure he’s still breathing. But his eyes wander, wondering, and after a while he begins to read to him. Fairy tales and poetry, soft, sad, dark stories about orphans lost in the woods and the wolves that find them. And when he looks up, there’s only the faintest jolt of surprise when he sees the stranger’s blue eyes had opened.

* * *

Sam stops and starts to put the book down, about to ask a thousand questions, but the stranger says in a voice creaking from disuse, “no, please continue.”

There are so many words on the tip of his tongue, questions which might better go unanswered, but Sam picks up the book again and starts to read, reads until the chapter is over. The stranger’s eyes have slid closed and Sam thinks he might have fallen back asleep, but as he reads out the last sentences, the stranger opens his eyes again.

“Thank you,” the stranger says, sitting up slowly. “You have a wonderful voice.”

Sam brings him water, and food, and again the stranger expresses gratitude and compliments Sam on his generosity. As he eats, Sam returns to his chair and picks up the book; at once, the stranger requests he read aloud. Sam acquiesces, a bit sheepish, but the stranger listens intently, all of his attention on Sam.

The meal seems to put the stranger to sleep. As the light fades, the stranger fades too, heavy eyes sliding closed just as Sam finishes the book. His voice is hoarse from speaking for so long, and he’s about to stand when the stranger stirs suddenly.

“Thank you, Sam,” he says, and his eyes fall shut at last, breath evening out. Sam allows himself to watch for a moment before he finally sets the book down and stands. The only sound is the buzz of the lightbulbs. Once again, it is only the darkness and him, awake in his glowing cave as he watches over the sleeping stranger.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before: everything before the horizontal line was written by kngfishergrl, while everything after was written by me.

Together they fall into a routine, The days slip by much quicker than they used to be, now that someone's sharing the quiet spaces of Sam's life. Sam usually spends the mornings catering to his bookshop's small but dedicated clientele. But he's ever-conscious of the stranger in his bed, and when the clock strikes three in the afternoon, that's the signal for him to close up shop and head upstairs.

The stranger’s normally curled up in bed when Sam enters his room, but he pushes himself up when he hears Sam. He’s still bedridden, still can’t move without his face twisting in pain, but he’s recovering. They while away the hours by talking to one another. Sam hasn’t had anyone in quite a while, is unused to the stranger’s rapt attention, but after a while he gets accustomed to it, even flattered. His curiosity is in turn sparked by the stranger. The stranger - Lucifer, he said. Call me Lucifer - was an odd mixture of easygoing familiarity and cool aloofness, warm interest and subtle evasiveness. Though Sam is curious, fascinated, even. He knows better than to pry. He still hasn’t forgotten about the blood staining his doorway. They speak, whiling away the hours, neither noticing the night fall. And when Lucifer’s eyes drift half-shut, that’s the time he settles back on the bed. Quietly listening to Sam reading to him until he drifts off to sleep.

* * *

 

They take walking slow. Lucifer still winces and sways on his feet, so Sam (despite Lucifer’s protests) helps him up from bed and they shuffle around Sam’s tiny apartment together, arm-in-arm. Sam chats to him, encouraging him and telling him stories to distract him from the pain in turn. As the days pass, and Sam helps Lucifer walk when he needs to, Sam realizes he’s told Lucifer so much—more, perhaps, than one should tell a stranger—about his current life and his past, while Sam still knows nothing about Lucifer besides his name.

He is polite, thanking Sam for the assistance and apologizing for the burden. Sam suspects he might have been educated, judging from the conversations they have over the books Sam reads to him, but at any rate, he’s clever, even charming. His dry wit makes Sam laugh, from which Sam can tell he draws satisfaction. It’s impossible to gauge his employment; his clothes are plain, and while his hands are rough like a laborers, they move like that of an artisan. Sam finds them hypnotizing.

His gut instinct, the same which Dean often praised Sam on, doesn’t tell him this is a mistake. Slowly, they are able to conquer the narrow stairs down to the bookstore, arms intertwined, gripping hands for extra support. The tight space presses them together. Sam catches his own scent on Lucifer, clean and warm.

It’s dark outside again. Sam walks Lucifer among the bookshelves, perusing the titles together. Despite being on solid ground, Lucifer’s hand still rests in Sam’s, cool and dry.

Lucifer leans against the check-out counter and stares out the window at the darkness. He stands exactly where customers always put themselves to pay, but he looks through the glass at the void outside like it’s a television. Sam wonders how different it would be if he had met Lucifer with the counter between them, instead of with Lucifer bleeding on his doorstep.

Sam pulls Lucifer out of his trance, gently, and coaxes him back towards the stairs. Lucifer doesn’t tear his gaze from the window until the last moment, when the strain to turn and look becomes too great. It gives Sam an idea.

“There’s a park about two blocks from here,” he hedges as they start the climb, “maybe tomorrow we could take a walk. After the store closes, you know? Get you some fresh air.”

Lucifer turns his head to look at Sam, surprise on his face. When Sam turns too, it becomes suddenly apparent how close their faces are; Sam has to remember to keep walking. Lucifer smiles.

“I’d like that, Sam,” he says.

Upstairs, Sam helps Lucifer into bed and reads to him, like every night. When he finishes, and Lucifer is half-asleep curled under his covers, Sam closes the book and stumbles to the sofa, falling easily into sleep.

He wakes in the middle of the night, still half-dreaming, and lifts his head to see Lucifer in the kitchen, leaning against the sink in front of the black-dark window, staring out. Before it can occur to him to feel afraid, sleep pulls him back down, eyes sliding shut just as Lucifer turns around.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before: everything above the horizontal line was written by kngfishergrl, while everything below it was written by me.
> 
> (also, have you checked out kngfishergrl on tumblr yet?? Because if you haven't, you should!!)

They take to walking in the park. Early mornings when the air is fresh and clear, pale light shining through the delicate lace of the tree canopy. Sam can see Lucifer grow stronger just by breathing in the fresh air. He has a particular love for flowers, Sam notices, as he touches their petals with a gentleness bordering on reverence. Roses are his favorites. "I used to have a garden." He tells Sam quietly during one of their walks.

"What happened to it?" Sam asks carefully.

“It’s gone now.” Lucifer says, his tone light but there’s no mistaking the shadow of old pain on his face. Sam abruptly switches the topic, and he can see the flash of gratitude in Lucifer’s eyes as they begin debating the finer points of Titus Andronicus.

Sam finds himself thinking of the expression on Lucifer’s face, however. Especially in the few minutes after Lucifer’s fallen asleep and Sam’s too sleepy and warm to move to the couch. In those minutes he allows himself to wonder at the man who had stumbled into his life and somehow seamlessly fit into the empty spaces of it. Again and again he would find his gaze wandering to Lucifer’s hands, and only in these moments does he allow himself to wonder if Lucifer would touch him as gently.

And then Lucifer would stir, some unseen dream darkening his features before they smooth over again, and Sam would pack himself off to bed. He never notices the blue eyes opening just a crack, watching him as he stretches and fits himself into the worn leather couch. Only slipping shut when he himself has sunk into the waiting arms of sleep.

Sam never hears him either, when he gets up in the lightless hours of the morning, staring into the darkness yawning outside the window for hours before turning back as the first rays of dawn bleed across the surface of the sky. Pulling Sam’s blanket over his shoulders and brushing his hair out of his face, his fingers lingering just a little too long on his warm skin before padding back to bed.

* * *

 

It isn’t long until they both know Lucifer is well enough to leave. Sam has grown so used to Lucifer’s presence, and so content with it, he frets at the thought of Lucifer’s absence. The next time he visits the grocer, he purchases a bouquet of apricot-colored roses. While Lucifer naps, Sam puts them in an old glass vase with cool water and leaves them on the bedside table.

That night, in the dull electric light, Sam enters his room for their usual reading session. Lucifer is already in bed, staring at the roses.

“I should give you your bed back,” Lucifer says suddenly, as Sam sits in his chair and opens  _Doctor Zhivago_ to their last place. Sam shakes his head and gives an excuse, knowing the truth: while he hasn’t slept in a bed for weeks, he’s sleeping better than he ever has before. His insomnia assuaged, he dreams sweetly after reading to Lucifer before bed.

He’d almost forgotten the world he used to live in. Now that there is nothing keeping Lucifer from leaving, he’s starting to recall.

“You’re a guest,” so he says, before Lucifer can protest. “You can keep the bed.”

The petals start to dry, despite freshly-changed water. One night, Sam wakes with a start. He leaps from the sofa and whips around, frantic; Lucifer is gasping for breath in his bed.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sam says, bolting over, hands hovering, unsure if he’s allowed to touch. “It was just a nightmare.”

Lucifer is reeling; it’s clear from his eyes he’s still half-dreaming. His hands grasp Sam’s forearm and grip tight. His palms are cold and clammy. “I owe you,” he says in a rush.

Sam shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything—”

“I want to.”

Sam starts. “I don’t want anything.”

“Yes you do. There’s always something. You’ve done so much. What do you want? Everything, anything. I can give you anything.”

Shaking his head, Sam stutters out another denial.

“I want to give you everything.”

“No—”

“ _Please_.”

“Go to sleep,” Sam begs, desperate. “In the morning, we’ll talk. In the morning.”

Eventually he coaxes Lucifer to release his arm and get back to sleep. Sam returns to the couch, heart pounding in his throat, but sleep is reluctant to come. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entirety of this absolutely fantastic chapter was written by kngfishergrl. I take no credit for this one! Originally posted here: http://kngfishergrl.tumblr.com/post/98312310579/hollybranches-collab-challenge-we-need-a-name
> 
> This chapter contains mild sexual content, but nothing graphic.

Dawn breaks blue and cold. Sam struggles up from tightly bunched sheets, his head aching, to find Lucifer staring at him. His eyes like blue ice. Clear and impenetrable at the same time. Sam swallows, trying to quell the overwhelming urge to look away.

(Strange how in their months together only now does he realize how unnerving they are. Like Lucifer can stare at him for hours and never tire.)

His mouth opens, but o sound comes out. It’s Lucifer who finally, mercifully breaks the silence.

“Good morning, Sam.” He says. Quiet and mild as always. Calm, no trace of fear unlike the night before. His hand strokes lightly at the withered bouquet of roses. Fragile brown petals drift down, and Lucifer’s gaze follows them. It’s only when he looks away that Sam finds himself able to move again.

 “Morning,” He says awkwardly. Lucifer doesn’t look up, but there’s a lift to the corners of his lips. The faintest suggestion of a smile that has Sam catching his breath, something warm and familiar blooming across his chest as he untangles himself from his blankets to stand by the bed.

“D’you want to go to the park?” Sam asks, a little awkwardly.  Lucifer raises his eyes to Sam’s, his head tilted to the side.

“You already know my answer to that.” He says, and now it’s Sam’s turn to smile.

They take their time in the park this morning. There’s a nip in the breeze and slowly but surely, the green lace canopy above is giving way to gold. The flowers have faded, and Sam sees something almost wistful in Lucifer’s expression as his favorite roses fall apart in the wind, petals brown and dead.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He asks abruptly. Sam starts. “What?” Lucifer shakes his head.

“This is the longest I’ve stayed in one place in a really, really long time.” He says quietly, and Sam’s chest clenches at that. Before he knows it he’s speaking, words spilling out of him in a rush.

“You can stay, you know.” Lucifer looks up, expression startled. “I need help in the bookstore, and the place is big enough for the two of us.” It’s a few seconds before he realizes what he’s said, and he flushes all but biting down on his tongue and cursing himself.

Lucifer’s eyes are wide. Wide and clear and so, so blue. But there’s a strange, cracked edge to them that sends something not unlike fear rippling through Sam.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” He says, harsher than Sam had ever heard him speak, but it’s like his mind and better sense have taken a backseat for today as his hand moves entirely of its own volition to clasp Lucifer’s.

“Yes, I do.” Sam says, open and warm and earnest. “You think you’re the only one on the run from the past? I didn’t start out owning a bookstore, you know.” Something dark and pained crosses Lucifer’s face, and he looks away. But Sam’s hand comes up to cup his cheek, and Lucifer stiffens with surprise.

He swallows, and Sam follows the movement with his eyes. Lucifer’s skin is cool beneath his palm, the coarse stubble tickling Sam’s skin. His breath flows out warm and soft over Sam’s wrist, and Sam can see his eyes fluttering shut, leaning subtly into Sam’s touch. Sam’s other hand comes up to stroke a trembling trail down Lucifer’s cheek to his nape, and this time Lucifer doesn’t try to bite back his harsh sigh.

He opens his eyes, and it’s like looking down a well that goes on forever and ever, showing only the featureless blue sky above.

“Let’s go back.” Lucifer says abruptly. He tugs himself free from Sam’s touch, turning back towards the bookshop. His footsteps rapid and his shoulders tight, and he only stops long enough for Sam to jam his keys into the lock and twist the knob before Lucifer’s running up the steps two at a time.

Sam doesn’t try to follow him. Angry ants buzzing under his skin, burning him up with shame. _Stupid stupid stupid._ He curses himself as he fights to distract himself by cataloguing the new arrivals.  _Should’ve known better, should’ve_   _stopped myself from assuming, now he’s going to leave_ – he tries not to think about the sharp, painful fear that lances through him at the thought. Breathes in and out, breathe in and out. Inhaling the scent of old paper, dust tickling his nose and making him sneeze.

Lucifer doesn’t come down all day. Sam only goes up once to knock on the door, with a peace offering of sandwiches  and apple juice. But Lucifer doesn’t answer, and Sam heads back down, a leaden weight in his belly.

It’s dark out when the door opens. Moths dance around the bare bulb, their slight shadows throwing quicksilver patterns on the shabby walls. Sam’s trying and failing to lose himself in the Odyssey when he hears the steps creaking, slow and hesitant. He looks up, a lump in his throat. The book already pushed aside and half-forgotten.

Lucifer emerges. His hair rumpled, his eyes abnormally bright. His footsteps are measured, none of his hesitation on the staircase present. He stops only when he’s less than a foot away from Sam. Stops, stares.

His eyes are dark with a question Sam knows the answer to all too well. His lips part, and Lucifer reaches up with his fingers to stroke their edges before kissing him, full and hard and tender, bending his neck back with the force of it. Sam can only groan and open his mouth wider, taking all of him in. His hands come up to fist in Lucifer’s hair as Lucifer growls. Suddenly he pulls back. Placing two fingers on Sam’s lips to stifle his small sound of protest.

Lucifer’s eyes are two burning stars. Two fingers sealing Sam’s lips shut, his other arm almost brutally tight around Sam’s waist. He’s flushed, sweating. His shirt sticking to his skin but there’s no mistaking the look on his face, the tightness of his grip as he held Sam close yet kept him back at the same time.

Sam swallows. Lifts Lucifer’s fingers off his mouth before kissing the tips. Leaning in to breathe lightly against Lucifer’s lips before covering it with his own. Briefly, he wonders if this was how Faust had felt upon making his deal with Mephistopheles. Lucifer’s ragged gasp and the way his mouth opens beneath his is answer enough.  

11:59 finds them locked in each other’s embrace. Sam trembling and weak-kneed, his legs locked around Lucifer’s waist as Lucifer braced him against the bookstore’s counter. Their thighs sticky with sweat and seed, Sam has to tilt Lucifer’s head up so his eyes catch the light, to better see the gorgeous warm haze glazing over his eyes. Lucifer’s fingers sink into his broad shoulders before drifting down to his waist.

They stay together, waiting for their breath to calm, for their hearts to slow. Sam nuzzles at Lucifer’s throat, stubble rasping against his skin, but he finds he doesn’t care. Eager to taste more, to commit every plane of Lucifer’s existence to memory. He doesn’t notice the challenging, animal glare Lucifer aims outside the window, at some unseen thing lurking in the shadows drowning the alley.  

 Lucifer’s fingers tighten on Sam’s waist, digging deep enough to draw blood, and Sam takes it as a signal to slip down from the counter, not even giving the slightest damn that the both of them are naked and any drunk stumbling down the street can see. Legs still wobbly, his hand catching Lucifer’s as he tugs him impatiently after him. Lucifer casts one last glance out of the window before following Sam up to their room.

The door slams shut behind them. The lights flicker, and go still.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of this chapter was written by me.

Lucifer pulls Sam into the bedroom and lays them down on sheets already bursting in the mingled scents of each other. Sam’s mind is hazy and warm, his knees still hollow. When Lucifer slides next to him with a damp cloth and starts to clean them up, he draws Lucifer in carefully.

“What’s wrong?” Sam murmurs against Lucifer’s collarbone, as he finishes. “You’re on edge.”

“Go to sleep,” Lucifer whispers back, setting the cloth aside. His hands return to Sam, fingers brushing across Sam’s jaw and and down his throat. So different from earlier, his touch has become gentle, fleeting. “Go to sleep, Sam.”

“You too.”

Lucifer laughs softly, his hands drifting down to stroke Sam’s waist soothingly. Cool, dry, sure hands.

“You’ll stay?” Sam asks. He doesn’t know if he means here, tonight, or tomorrow or the days and nights after that.

“Go to sleep, Sam," Lucifer tells him again as they sink even closer together. His voice is like honey, sliding from his throat, making Sam’s head grow heavy. "You’re safe.”

Sam believes him.

It begins getting darker earlier. The world outside the shop crystallizes with frost. In the morning the snow is unmarred by footprints or tire tracks; every evening it snows again to erase all evidence of human movement, a blank slate. And at night, when Sam’s shop becomes a beacon in subzero space, the electric lights are colder and sharper than ever. Sam stares into the dark and watches his breath fog the air so he knows he’s alive and awake and this is real.

Lucifer stays. One night, Sam strokes the curve of Lucifer’s spine from his nape to his tailbone and asks him why. What made him decide.

“I’m happy here,” Lucifer sighs, back arcing into Sam’s touch, “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“What could happen to me?”

“Nothing,” Lucifer tells him, “nothing, if I’m here.”

“You’re why it’s here.”

Lucifer freezes. He twists away from Sam, slowly, meeting his eyes.

“Yes,” Lucifer says, but it’s not angry like for what Sam had steeled himself.

He sounds cornered. That’s what he’s been this whole time: cornered. Boxed into Sam’s tiny apartment, the shop downstairs, and the park outside, until—like Sam was before this, before Lucifer showed up—that’s all his world has become. Sam had found an escape in Lucifer but Sam had never realized he might be confining Lucifer in the process.

“Don’t stay if you don’t want to,” Sam says, kissing him to take the edge off.

“I want to,” Lucifer murmurs, tucking himself back under Sam’s chin. They’re still for a long time, and Sam thinks Lucifer might have drifted off.

“I’m afraid you’ll be hurt if I go,” Lucifer says into the dark, just as Sam is sinking into sleep, “but I’m afraid you’ll be hurt if I stay.”

The next morning, before the sun has fully risen the light filtering through the window is still dim, Sam wakes up to the sound of breaking glass. The store alarm goes off, screaming shrilly, and Sam hurtles downstairs and is immediately hit by a gust of freezing air and snow, the floor under his bare feet damp and frigid with ice.

Shelves are toppled, books strewn everywhere, dirty and bloating from the slush. Before him, the front window of the shop is shattered.


End file.
